Silver Bells and Cockle Shells
by ShilohPR
Summary: While Katniss was busy saving Panem, someone else needed to save Peeta. This is the story of the girl who always smiled, even when her heart was breaking. Mockingjay AU.  PeetaXDelly, maaaybe KatnissXGale?
1. Not the Best of Beginnings

_AN: So I'm going to write a Peeta/Delly fic. That's right, I'm telling you now: **Katniss and Peeta will not end up together.** I'm telling you that now because I don't want any confusion about the direction of the story in that regard. This is going to be sort of long, and I don't want you wasting your time if this isn't the story you want. I personally wasn't satisfied by the end of Mockingjay, so I'm doing my own thing and writing Delly's story. It's an AU. Things are going to change. Some things will stay by the book and some things will depart completely. So if you're super protective of Collins' work, you should probably stop here. But if you found yourself, like me, thinking that maybe Peeta deserved someone who could love him a little better than Katniss could, read on!_

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><p><strong><em>Silver Bells and Cockle Shells<em>  
><strong>by Shiloh P. Rose

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><p><strong>Chapter One: Not The Best of Beginnings<strong>

I have a gap between my two front teeth. I'm told it's endearing. It's not very large. I mean that it could be worse. When I'm talking you don't even notice. When I'm smiling, your eyes somehow brush right over it and, were you asked, 'Did you notice that gap?' you would unfailingly answer 'Of course not.' You can only really see it when I'm in that mood between happiness and concern, when my mouth just opens a little bit and you notice that the pink of my lips seems to connect between my teeth. I'm told I scowl when I think, that the gap is extremely obvious then, and so I do my best to not think.

But sometimes, in a quiet moment, I'll realize my tongue is pressing against the gap between my teeth, and then I'll think about the gap. Which, as I've said, makes it even more noticeable.

I'm sorry to say I was thinking about this conundrum when the first bomb fell.

I was working at our family's garden plot, one of several in an acre of land just outside of town where town families could pay a fee to rent a few square yards. Ours was predominantly vegetables, like most of the plots, though I'd always planted some of my favorite flowers, to keep fresh cut bouquets on our kitchen table. Flowers are one of the few luxuries you can grow, so why not?

I'd like to say I was working in the garden because I felt a vested interest in my family's dinner that night. That was part of it, I suppose, because our dinner did matter. But mostly I was working in the garden because it was _supposed_ to be quiet there. It wasn't supposed to be quiet at home, where the TV had provided the background noise to my childhood, my wake up call, my good night story, my anchor for sanity on every cold and rainy afternoon. Everyone had to watch during the Games, but my father kept it on constantly. The only times the set was off were between the hours of 11 pm and 5 am, when there wasn't any programming.

Now there wasn't any programming period. We'd been abandoned by the capitol, left to our own devices. Or maybe left to die.

About a week before, the Peace Keepers had disappeared, packing into train cars like rats fleeing a burning building. The railroad tracks had carried them into the forest, back to the Capitol or maybe to another District that needed them.

If walking around town without the constant footsteps of Peacekeepers wasn't eery enough, the next morning, TV programming didn't start at 5 am. My father sat on the couch in front of the set as I prepared breakfast. The screen remained black. He kicked the set and scratched his head. As the rest of the town woke up, it became apparent that it wasn't just our set not working. The Mayor assured everyone it must be a temporary outage in the Capitol and went to place a call that, rumor has it, just rang and rang and rang.

The next day, the radio that we'd turned on to fill the silence left by the TV went dead.

The day after that, the phones stopped.

For the three days following, a silence had settled over District 12 like a heavy blanket. Most people stopped leaving their homes, nervous at change when life had been so painfully consistent for so long. A few ventured out to demand answers from the mayor or lurk threateningly around the market, the butcher, the bakery, any place with food stores. It was like the first time your parents leave you home alone. At first you keep expecting them to turn because they forgot something, but as time passes without them reappearing, you beginning to feel adult and powerful. You can do anything you want and there's no one there to see.

Parents always come home, though. Our family wasn't about to get involved in anything we could get blamed for later. So my parents, my brother and I kept our noses down and our hands clean and went about business as usual as the silence filled with low murmurs and the crowds pacing around shops with food grew denser.

As I've mentioned, for reasons I don't understand, I clearly remember that I was tonguing the gap in my tooth when the bomb dropped. I didn't recognize it as a bomb at first, of course. The ground shook, I felt a blast of hot air and then heard the faint tinkling of glass. My fear that the mob had finally blown up the bakery brought me to my feet. Far off in the distance, it felt like - but it couldn't have been that far - clouds of smoke were drifting up to the sky. The bomb must have made a noise when it exploded but I can't say that I remember it.

Within seconds, another explosion happened, this time to my left, close enough that it knocked me off my feet. I felt the heat on my skin so sharply that I thought I'd caught on fire, but when I slapped at my arms there were no flames.

Then, delayed for whatever reason, the screams finally started. I didn't instantly recognize the noise I was hearing as screams. Truly terrified or grief-stricken screams don't sound like any noise that a human being could possibly make. They punctuated the short silences between the exploding buildings.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out that this had all been carefully planned. The way the Peacekeepers fled like rats from a burning barn. The way everything was cut off so we'd have no idea what was happening in other districts, or what was coming for us.

The way the electric fence was left on, as though someone had forgotten to flip a switch.

But this is all hindsight. At the time, all I could think was "Bombs! Death!" and "Ali!" My little brother, my baby brother with the dark curls and the sapphire eyes, had gone to play with a friend at the far end of town where the road turned off into the Seam. That was on exactly the opposite side of the bombs.

I can't give you a play-by-play. Probably that's for the best, because either you've seen what it's like and it would be too painful to remember, or you've never seen it and you would not be able to understand. The bombs continued to fall from aircraft that hovered overhead. Chaos had broken out downtown. People poured from buildings, as though being in the streets was any safer. Buildings erupted before you heard the bomb even hit, glass and brick raining down on the mobs. It was impossible to hear or see, but still everyone raced around blindly, knocking each other over, screaming for their loved ones.

I was no different. I don't think it even occurred to me that I could get hurt. I just had to find Ali. Running, yelling for my brother, I turned this way and that, pushing through the crowds, ignoring the kicks, shoves, and punches of desperate people.

An elbow hit me in the eye and knocked me to the ground. The crowd immediately closed over me as people scrambled over my body, knocking the breath out of me. A solid stomp on my left hand left me howling in pain. I couldn't even move enough to pull my arm into my chest.

Suddenly, someone grabbed my other wrist and pulled me to my feet, nearly wrenching my arm out of the socket.

Gale Hawthorne. I had two connections with Gale, one of which took clear priority at the moment. Ali had run off with Gale's sister Posy to play this morning.

"My broth-"

"Do you know how to turn the fence off?"

What an absurd question to ask. No one knew how to turn the fence off. An electric fence isn't much good if it can just be turned off willy-nilly.

Besides, I didn't care about the fence at the moment. I cared about my brother. I started to repeat this as the crowd tried to pull me away. A nearby building erupted. Gale and I both ducked down beneath the tide of heads to avoid the falling debris.

"My brother-"

"He's with my family," Gale assured me, holding on so I wouldn't be swept away. "But we have to get out of here. We have to find someone who can turn off the fence!"

Somewhere in the back of my mind, a sudden memory. A slumber party at Madge's house when we were nine. Too much candy, too much cake. Everyone was asleep except the two of us. I couldn't sleep in a strange house and Madge didn't want to sleep while anyone was still awake, even if it was just Delly Cartwright. 'Want to see something cool?' she'd asked. I'd never been cool, so I agreed. A trip down the stairs. A code typed in.

A second code to turn off the fence.

_What was the code?_

I must have been yelling his name because Gale stopped yelling at other people, grabbed my face and pressed it against his so I could yell in his ear, "I think I can do it."

"Turn the fence off?"

"Yes." I wasn't so sure, but I sounded awfully sure. "There's a code in the basement-"

"Just go!" He pulled me back up, gave me a shove, and disappeared.

Everything up until this point couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes. I can't imagine it had been five minutes since the first bomb dropped but already the screams were mixing with wails as bodies began to get recognized. I closed my ears, held my good arm out in front of me, and ran towards the mayor's house.

Or what was left of it. Half of the house was missing; the other half was buried beneath the rubble. The door to the basement was directly in the middle, half hidden by brick rubble I knew I'd never be able to move on my own, especially with one hand.

Did I yell for help? Did I command? I have a hard time imaging myself giving orders, but suddenly people were scrambling around me, tugging away the broken furniture, the thick grey stones, the spilled bookcase.

This code was easy. Madge's birthday. I typed in 052257 and the lock inside slid open.

On the other side of the metal door was a bomb shelter. As soon as I opened the door, people in the basement began screaming - Madge and her parents.

I choose to let this part be fuzzy. It was me that opened the door. Because I opened the door, the Undersees were discovered and carried out of the basement by very crowd that had helped me unearth the door. Perhaps that had been their intention all along. But it was me that opened the door.

Katniss later attributed the Undersee's death to the bombing. I'll die before I tell her what people become when they're cornered like rabbits, when they feel death breathing down their neck and are looking in the face of someone they think they can blame. Although I guess she already knows.

The mob running into the basement to get the Undersees and to seek shelter in this metal box knocked me down the stairs but also broke my fall. I scrambled around in the dark looking for the panel I needed.

The box on the wall was smaller than I remembered and I passed it over twice in my frantic grasping before realizing what it was. I flung the door open, my hands shaking. It felt like this was taking forever. Everyone was dying. Everyone was going to die. Every second I took was more people dying. I honestly believed if I could just flip the switch, the bombing would suddenly stop and everyone would be okay.

The code! Madge's birthday had been easy. How was I supposed to remember a twelve digit code from eight years ago?

Mayor Undersee was nice, but he wasn't really any brighter than me. It couldn't be something complicated or he'd never remember it. I tried 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-1 -nothing. I tried 12-11-10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3 - nothing. 111111111111 -nothing. 000000000000 -nothing. Still the screams, still the shaking earth, still the whistle and crash of our beautiful district flying to bits.

12-12-12-12-12-12.

Three beeps.

Then silence.

A little green light next to the code screen turned red.

That had to mean the fence was off.

I didn't wait because it was either off or we were going to die anyway. And if I was going to die, I needed my brother.

But he was safe. My parents were the ones that needed me. Dad got confused easily; Mom rarely left the house. They wouldn't know where to go. Ali was my baby brother . . . but he was at the gate already. Gale had said so. As soon as the buzzing stopped, Posy's mom would get them through. I just needed to get my parents and follow. Could I trust Gale?

I didn't know Gale very well, but I knew him well enough to know he was one of the most trustworthy people I would ever meet.

I shoved past the dozens of people huddled around the basement and scrambled upstairs. It wasn't until I stood in the ruins of the house that I realized the silence. The whistling and exploding was just in my ears.

The air was thick with screams but no bombs. I froze and waited. Five seconds. Thirty. A minute. No bombs. The ships overhead just hung, as though preparing to leave. Was it over?

I moved towards my house, slowly at first, then more quickly. Everyone around me was still, staring at the ships, waiting to see what was going to happen next. But I knew what would happen next. I would run home, find my parents safe inside, and everything would be okay. We'd go retrieve Ali from the woods and maybe stay there.

I reached my house, stopped in front and smiled to see the familiar shoe shop still standing, practically untouched.

In the mere seconds I took to admire the fortune of my home, a half dozen bombs fell from the sky. It was the first chance I'd had to actually see one. They were smaller than I expected, long and cylindrical, but smaller than me. They dropped like water through the roofs of my home, of the milliner and Mr. Allen's pottery shop on either side, and down into the Mellark's bakery behind me.

Seconds passed and nothing happened. If felt like half a minute, but surely couldn't have been more than a couple of seconds in which everything was frozen, everyone still on the street around me waiting.

Then they went off. First the one in Mr. Allen's pottery, blowing out the windows and pushing off the roof. Then the milliner's walls pushed outwards and crumbled as everything inside disintegrated to shards.

Someone grabbed me from behind and tugged me to the side. I crumbled at the pain in my wrist. In that split second I missed the destruction of my own home. I think I saw my mother's frightened face in the window but who really knows. I've been told I have an overactive imagination and I hope that in this case they're right, although it doesn't really change anything. It doesn't really matter what you see when something like this happens; it's what you remember.

For a second I thought it was _him_ crouched over me, gripping my arms. When the bakery blew, he fell on top of me -because of the blast or to protect me from it, I'm not sure. It wasn't him, but his oldest brother, Pann Mellark, that pulled me to my feet.

I was reeling from the explosions but managed to find my voice and yell, "We have to get to the forest."

"The fence-"

"It's not on!"

We took off running to the forest on the north end of town because that was the closest point, but I only made it two blocks before I felt myself being pulled back. To this day I can't say why. Just once of those chance things that you can never explain but are forever grateful for. Without saying anything I spun and ran back towards our destroyed homes. For whatever reason, maybe just because he didn't know what else to do, Pann followed.

There, on the front walk of the bakery was Rye Mellark, half buried beneath rubble. Maybe I'd seen him but it didn't register for several minutes? He might have been visible from the spot I'd watched my home blow up.

Quickly, wordlessly, Pann and I shoved the bricks away; I had to kick some of the larger ones. Rye was conscious but his ankle was twisted at a funny angle that made my stomach churn.

Almost without rush, we helped him to his feet, throwing his arms around our shoulders. As we hobbled past, the rest of my home collapsed in on itself. Is it selfish to hope that the blast had already killed my parents?

There were bodies everywhere. I can't tell you how many, because I didn't see them distinctly. I just recognized that they were there and kept going. I was tiny next to tall, lanky Rye, and the pain from my hand was making my head swim, but we had to go on, so we did.

By the time we reached the furthermost block of town, two, maybe three dozen people had fallen in with us. Apparently we looked like we knew what we were doing and that was something people could latch onto. A momentary fear stole through me that the fence would still be on. If it was, then Ali- but it wasn't. Another man grabbed the wire without hesitating and was fine.

A temporary pause in the bombing led to another eery silence as our group of people pried the fence open with our bare hands and gripped it apart for each other to scramble through.

We had almost all made it through the fence when the next volley happened. Not bombs this time, though. Just bullets. Hundreds of thousands of bullets shot so quickly and from such a height that you couldn't see where they were coming from or going to. The only sound they made was the soft thunk when they hit the ground. I don't think I would even have known what it was if several people in our group hadn't collapsed as we all sprinted for the cover of trees.

I turned to see who had fallen and judge whether I could help them but Rye dug his fingers into my shoulder and pulled me along as much as I was pulling him along. I don't know who they were; they could have been my own parents and I was so busy helping Rye that I didn't even notice. I felt like I'd betrayed those fallen people by not at least noticing who they were.

Our group moved as quietly as possible deeper into the woods, gradually slowing as the adrenaline left our bodies and our weary muscles rebelled. Every twig snap made us jump. Some guy I didn't know took my place helping Rye, leaving me to try and see through the trees for anyone else who'd managed to escape.

We couldn't be the only ones. Gale had said Ali would be safe. He'd promised, hadn't he? And though I barely knew Gale Hawthorne, everything he'd ever promised me had come true, even when he hadn't meant it . . .

It could have been five minutes, or fifteen minutes, or half an hour after we'd crawled through the fence before anyone finally spoke.

"Where do we go now, Fearless Leader Cartwright?" Rye was in so much pain that I hardly recognized his voice. I glanced around and realized we were all pretty unrecognizable. Except for the guy I didn't know, who must have come from the Seam, we were all townies. What were a bunch of townies going to do in the woods? And under the leadership of me? Had I somehow fooled them all into thinking I knew what the hell I was doing? All I cared about was finding Ali. The thought that something might have happened to him made my throat close and my stomach churn.

He had to be all right. I would be able to feel it if my baby brother were dead, just the way I could feel that my parents were lost to me forever. Two-thirds of my world were gone, but one-third was left and I had to find that one-third somewhere in this forest, a strange landscape that none of us had ever even been in, much less tried to survive in. And my hand felt like it was on fire, to boot.

They were still all looking at me for a plan. No one ever looked to me for a plan. I was silly little Delly Cartwright. I was cute and silly and useless for anything other than a listening ear or a good laugh. Good at shining shoes and not much else.

'Everything for everyone,' my mother had once called me. Malleable, eager to please, spineless - it just depended who you asked. Right now, what everyone needed was a voice of reason, something to do, a reason to keep walking.

What would Katniss do?

"We need to find water," I said. "Then we can worry about food. There are others out here. We're likely to find them at water."

"How do you know there's anyone else?" Mira asked. She'd been a secretary in city hall. Her stockings were torn and she didn't have shoes.

I'd learned as a little girl that people will believe just about anything if you say it with a confident smile. So I gave her my brightest smile and insisted, "Because Gale and I had a plan. We need to go north until we find water."

I could tell which way was north because of where the sun was in the sky. I knew how to do this from watching the Games. The Capitol and the Games had taken everything from me now, everything except my brother. It seemed fitting that the Capitol would have accidentally taught me how to find my brother. Maybe we weren't so ill-equipped. Maybe everything we'd learned from being required to watch the Games would be enough to keep us alive.

If this doesn't sound like the Delly Cartwright you've heard of, there's good reason for that. But that day, at least, I surprised even myself and survived. Turns out there was a bit of a survivor in me after all.

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><p><em>AN: Have questions? Of course you do. But just go with me here and all things will make sense eventually. I have something like 4-5 chapters of this bad boy written, so I'll post the next one probably this weekend.<em>


	2. In Which We Rally

**Chapter Two: In Which We Rally**

The bombing had taken place in the morning. It took until the late afternoon to find water. Even without having to help Rye along, it would have been slow going, since there were no paths, and in parts the undergrowth was so thick we had to rip and break our way through. Despite the shade, it was hot and sticky in the woods and bugs stuck to the sweat on our faces, or buzzed around oozing cuts and gashes. Not long into our trek we came across a small pond, but a thick green sludge on the top made us decide to keep going, even as desperately thirsty as we were.

It was nearing sunset and I was beginning to fear we'd be stuck overnight without anything to drink when we found the lake. I'd never seen so much water. We'd focused so much on finding water, believed so strongly it would make things better, that I almost cried. I ran forward and plunged my throbbing hand into the water, relishing the cold that instantly sent goosebumps up my arms. I don't know who was the first to plunge their face beneath the surface, but soon we were all huddled at the bank, slurping up the water like it had been days since we'd had a drink.

As I held my face underwater, concentrating only on how cold the water felt against my eyelids, a hand tapped on my back. I was so startled that I inhaled a lung full of water. I pulled up gasping and spluttering, trying to cough the water out of my nose and lungs.

"Ali, she's here!" the kid who'd tapped me, Vick Hawthorne, called.

It was only then that I noticed the dozens of people peering out from the treeline, hidden just beneath the branches.

Some leader I was. I'd led my little group straight into what could have easily been an ambush by the Capitol.

But I wasted little time being embarrassed about it, because suddenly Ali was running towards me. I could barely crawl forward quickly enough to catch him against me before we fell back onto the dirt. He sobbed into my neck, wrapping his arms and legs around my body and squeezing me as tightly as he could. I kissed his face and rubbed his back, comforting myself by comforting him.

It was several minutes before I could get myself under control. I didn't want to start crying and scare Ali even more, but here he was, alive and safe and in my arms. I'd been so certain Gale was telling the truth when he said Ali was safe that I hadn't spent even a moment's thought considering anything else, but now the possibilities overwhelmed me. What if he'd been blown up just within the fence? What if he'd been caught by bullets just beyond? What if he'd fallen on the way to the lake and not had the strength to get up? You can drive yourself crazy thinking about the what ifs.

Besides, none of that mattered anymore. Whatever happened now, at least we were together. I wasn't going to let anything ever separate us, ever again. I was never going to let us be in a position where we could be torn apart like this, I was certain of it, and reassured him of it as I pushed us both up to our feet.

I'd managed to avoid hitting my hand just by sheer luck, because relief at seeing Ali had made me temporarily forget it was injured. Once standing, though, Ali grabbed my hand without knowing any better and I cried out.

"You're hurt?" Gale asked. I hadn't even noticed he'd approached, his eyes surveying our small group.

"His leg's broken," I replied instead, pointing to Rye.

Gale snorted, "Obviously, but I asked about you." When I held my hand out, he only glanced at it before he motioned for us to follow. Already Pann and the other guy, whose name I never did learn, were helping Rye to his feet.

There was a small cottage on the far side of the water, made of concrete and tin, with no glass in the windows and only a broken wooden door. As we shuffled along towards this, Gale motioned for people to step back into the trees, to stay hidden. Ali clutched my good hand in both of his, pressing it to his face as we walked. It's worth mentioning at this point that I had just realized that during the whole reunion, he hadn't said a word.

Gale was talking now, though, and I tried to listen as he explained, "I've been stocking the cabin for weeks. There's some food and medical supplies, and as many weapons as I could get my hands on. I wish I'd had more time . . . stealing things was harder than I'd expected."

"At least it's something," I offered.

"You think they're going to come find us?" Pann asked, grunting beneath Rye's weight. He was probably exhausted. Rye was tall and lanky, and Pann was taller and thicker, but practically carrying your brother all day was more than almost anyone could handle.

In answer, Gale nodded, "Yeah, I do. Madge said the point was to destroy everything, to make District 12 a new District 13. No survivors."

"How many survivors _are_ there?"

"Not enough."

"At least a couple hundred though, right?" Pann asked, looking, as I did, at the large clusters of people. No telling how much further the crowds trailed into the forest.

"Probably not even a thousand."

"More than none," I returned to Gale, not missing a beat. You can blame it on the adrenaline and relief - I won't stop you - but I was determined to try and keep us looking upwards and onwards. Grim thoughts weren't going to save any more lives, but optimism might.

Gale was really insistent on being morose though and continued, "Not as many as are dead. I didn't know until too late . . . "

"You knew this was coming?" Rye asked, his face pale and soaked with sweat. I wondered if someone couldn't just flat out carry him, if maybe that would help the pain from limping along.

"Madge did. She's been listening in on her father's phone calls for months. We just didn't know _when_ until this morning. We'd been watching for the ships, or for any changes in Mayor Undersees behavior. We knew it couldn't be long when the Peacekeepers left, but when it didn't happen the next day or the day after that . . . We got too content." He paused and shoved his hands into his pockets, staring at his feet, before asking softly, "I haven't been able to find Madge. Did any of you-" He stopped his question at my expression. I hadn't realized I'd even made one until it was too late to mask it, but he seemed to understand what he needed to.

To listen to Madge talk, there had always been something there between her and Gale. I still don't know the story; Gale never mentioned Madge to me again. But I thought Gale deserved to remember her as the accomplice she'd been to him, as good, as a hero in the end. So I didn't vocalize the question on my mind: _why didn't she turn the fence off? _She was right there. But maybe she didn't know the code. Or maybe her father was stopping her. Maybe she'd been fighting to turn off the fence when I'd opened the door. Or maybe she'd forgotten the switch was even there. I think everyone deserves to be remembered well in death. We all do our best. I don't know what happened in that basement before I opened the door and certainly don't want to be the one to ask a question that could even partially tarnish Madge when she did have a hand in saving all the people that she did.

After a heavy pause, Gale continued, "Everyone was ready to get out as soon as the gate turned off. It had been off for a couple days. It turned on again this morning, which was the first sign something was about to happen. We were already gathering at the fence when the bombs started falling. I couldn't find the switch, though. I thought it was all going to be for nothing, that we'd all die because of that stupid fucking fence . . . "

We bypassed the cabin and entered the woods behind it. Several women were stepping over bodies, examining gashes, bruises, and all manner of holes where none should be.

Once again in the relative safety of the trees, Gale turned to me and gave me a forced grin, "But you found it, Delly. We all would have died. You realize that, right?"

I don't know why he said that so loudly. All eyes turned to me. The nurses stopped moving. Every one stared at me, trying to decide if they believed it, that this pudgy little blond girl had done something extraordinary and saved them all. Few of them probably even knew who I was. I'd always sort of blended into the corner -and I didn't mind that at all, Now I felt naked under their stares.

I shook my head and explained to Gale, "The switch was in the basement of the Mayor's house. The gate was already off by the time I got down there, though. Either Madge or Mayor Undersee must have turned it off."

Everyone deserves to be remembered kindly in death. Even leaders who know their followers are about to be bombed, and try to hide in their shelter until its over. Maybe he didn't know it was going to happen. Maybe he didn't think there was anything he could do about it. Maybe he'd forgotten the code or that the switch was even there. I think it's harder to pepper the Mayor with maybes, but who knows? It's certainly not my place to condemn or condone.

We picked our way several yards into the tree before Rye collapsed, insisting he couldn't go any further. Mrs. Everdeen set to work on his leg, cutting away his pants at the knee so she could reach his shin. They didn't know each other, it was clear, which felt strange considering how closely they were linked. It's strange how close people can be without being close at all.

Another woman from the Seam approached me and offered to wrap my hand. Two of my fingers were bent at odd angles and the slightest pressure on my palm made lights erupt behind my eyes. Ali settled into my lap as I leaned against the tree and clenched my teeth to keep from crying out and scaring him. The woman was as gentle as she could be as she felt around, testing what was broken, what was just bruised.

I'd never known pain like that. Sure, I'd had the typical skinned knee growing up, but I was used to bandaging scrapes and bruises, applying ice and gentle caresses to others' injuries, not my own. Some sounds of pain must have slipped out because Ali turned and wrapped his arms around my neck, squeezing again as the woman slowly but firmly pushed my fingers back into place and used sticks and a ripped shirt to wrap them in place. The splint was crude and it would take hours for the dizziness from the pain to pass, especially now that the adrenaline was subsiding.

I think I blacked out a few times but don't really remember. A cobbler's daughter doesn't have much reason to be tough. I felt safe in the presence of Gale, though. He knew more than me about survival and about what was going on. And there were adults around. They could handle things. I found myself leaning back and closing my eyes, exhausted to the point of almost falling asleep right there.

Just as I was about to doze off, though, a question from Rye made my stomach churn, "Did Madge give you any update about the Games?"

His brother was there, in some far away place, no doubt completely unaware of what had just happened to his home. To his parents. Rye and Pann made no pretense of looking for them, which had to mean they knew them to be dead. Mrs. Mellark they might not have searched for, but had there been any hope for it, they would have been scouring the clusters of people hidden in the trees for Mr. Mellark.

I was trying to focus on anything else because I didn't want to hear the answer. I didn't want to know what was going on with the Games because I could always hope for the best until confronted with the worst. Powers of optimism can only go so far when confronted with the worst, and then they just become delusion. It's a fine line to tread, I guess.

As hard as I wished for temporary deafness, though, I couldn't not hear it as Gale answered, "They blew up the arena. The tributes did. As soon as the Capitol realized what was happening, they cut off all the feeds. They put in a time-delay after last years games -just like a half hour, so they can edit anything they want before everyone sees it."

"Then how do you know-"

"What do you mean they blew up the arena?" Mrs. Everdeen interrupted Pann, her hands hovering over Rye's leg though she didn't look away from her work.

"I don't know," Gale sighed, shaking his head. "I don't know anything. Madge told me. It was the last information the mayor got from the Capitol. There was an emergency broadcast to mayors that the tributes had blown up the arena. Almost as soon as the message went out, Mayor Undersee's communications were cut."

"But why would they blow up-"

"Katniss must have done it." I hadn't noticed the little girl hovering near Mrs. Everdeen, Katniss' little sister Prim. Her eyes were wide as she took in this latest update, and she looked scared but hopeful. I could recognize the brave front; it made her look so old and so young at the same time.

Gale nodded, "I think so. If Katniss and Peeta were involved, it makes sense that the Capitol would think the entire District 12 was involved. Even if we weren't, it wouldn't matter; they'd want to set an example for the other districts. This is what happens when your Tributes fuck with the Games." His explanation made perfect sense. But it didn't answer the question that everyone had to be wondering, that no one was brave enough to ask:

If you destroy the entire District they're from just for association, what do you do with the two Tributes who did the actual rebelling?

If they'd blown up the arena while still inside, maybe they'd died. Maybe they'd escaped. Maybe they were hidden in the remains of the arena and the Capitol would never find them. Maybe the Capitol had them, maybe the Capitol had already killed them, but maybe they were free.

Hope for the best until the worst is confirmed. Then look for something else to hope for.

So I stopped pretending to be asleep and asked, "Well, until we know what's happened, what are we going to do? This is way too many people to live in the forest, right? And you said you think the Capitol will come looking." My subject change seemed to catch everyone off-guard. It was too easy to overthink and sink into depression but what good did that do anyone right now? Either our fearless tributes were prisoners and there was nothing we could do for them, or they were dead and there was nothing they needed from us.

Besides, _he _wasn't mine to worry about. But Ali was, and I needed to get him somewhere safe.

Gale cleared his throat and massaged his hands. Poor guy, if in his heart he thought he'd lost both Madge and Katniss in one day. That was a lot to try and handle on its own, not to mention that now hundreds of people were waiting for someone to take the lead, and that someone was pretty much Gale.

"Where should we go that they can find us?" I asked again, giving Gale what I hoped was a helpful suggestion and an encouraging smile. "Where would they expect us to go?"  
>Pann, Rye, Mrs. Everdeen, and Prim were all staring at me with a mixture of surprise and confusion. They were waiting for it, for that one comment that someone could make that would make them doubt their despair, that would tip their worries to confidence that our loved ones were going to be okay, were in fact maybe already okay and expecting us to be okay too.<p>

"What about District 11?" I offered when no one said anything. "Katniss had a sort of connection with them, after that District 11 girl died, right? We might be able to blend in-"

"No," Gale interrupted. "I know where they would go if . . . I mean, I know where Katniss would expect me to go if she's . . . She told me that District 13 might not actually be destroyed."

This was such a crazier thing to believe than that everyone was dead that for a moment the looks of doubt and disbelief turned on Gale.

"It's too far."

"There's nothing there. We've all seen the footage."

"We'd almost all starve before we got there, and the rest of us would starve once we're there."

"We don't even know how to get there."

"Well, what a bunch of fuddy-duddies you all are," I scoffed, pushing myself up and pulling Ali to his feet. "If Katniss and- if we're expected by them in District 13, then that's exactly where I intend to go."

"No surprise there," Rye muttered.

I laughed. It sounded so harsh at first, almost hysterical. It felt wrong to laugh with so many injured around us, but he'd teased me and I simply had to laugh. Little Miss Do-As-You're-Told, Mrs. Mellark had called me once, wishing aloud that her boys were more like me. I, for one, was glad they weren't.

Then Pann laughed and gave Rye a shove, "You're such an ass." Which made Rye laugh. That was the tipping point. It didn't make anyone really forget what had just happened, but it managed to focus attention, at least superficially, on moving forward and hopefully finding good things there. It illuminated something that we could work torward, that we could cling to: if we can get to District 13, then we'll know what to do. Or, even better, Katniss will be there, and she'll know what to do.

"How are we going to move the people that are hurt?" Prim was the first to ask. It was true that a lot of people were in very bad shape, some too bad to move. But at the same time we couldn't wait for everyone to get better.

The logistics of this were beyond me, but that was fine. Mrs. Everdeen and the other women seemed more than capable of taking over. I sat back down and awaited orders. Ali crawled back into my lap. He was getting too big to sit there; he was going to be so tall. Already his legs stuck out like a silly baby bird's. He buried his face beneath my chin while I stroked his back and swayed slowly side to side. He, the boy who was usually so chatty with me, still wasn't saying a word, but I didn't see the point in pushing him. No doubt he was overwhelmed by everything. He would talk when he was ready. At least it meant he wasn't asking me where our parents were. I don't know what I would have said. How do you explain something like that to a six-year-old?

We didn't wait long, maybe an hour. Gale spread instructions himself first, but the plan traveled quickly. Some wanted to stay, and that was their choice, but most were willing to go. What was there to stay for? There was nothing left to call home. One glimpse back into the town would have made clear that nothing had survived outside of the forest and the people hidden in it. Still, some wanted to look, and so a few remained to heal, or to care for the injured, or simply because they couldn't fathom leaving. The rest of us made the decision to leave and follow wherever Gale led us.

Gale explained that he knew the woods for another mile or two, but beyond that would be anyone's guess. We knew the general direction of the old extinguished district simply from legend and word of mouth -the Capitol didn't exactly hand out maps to Panem for our perusal. So off we set, an exhausted, broken, fragile fraction of what had once been District 12, disappearing into the thickening forest, leaving everything and nothing behind.


	3. How Many Ways Can You Say We Walked?

_AN: Sorry! Took a hiatus while I took care of my mom after her surgery and for Christmas. Here's chapter 3. I had the option to do a LONG chapter or two SHORT chapters, but I decided to just make this one long chapter. The next chapter will be back to less-than-5000-word length. Also: **really guys?** You're going to give me reviews and PMs solely to argue and curse me out because of my opening author's note? wtf? For the first time in the 10ish years I've been on , I've had to turn off anonymous reviews. **HG fans officially harassed me more after two chapter than Twilight fans did in 3 years.** And that's saying something because I got some serious flames in response to SayNo. Keeping it classy, girls. Keeping it classy. (To the other couple of you that are giving me such sweet reviews, thanks! I didn't expect anyone to actually read this, so I appreciate it! :)  
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><p><strong>Chapter Three: How Many Ways Can You Say 'We Walked'?<strong>

We walked for hours, until there wasn't enough light left to see the hand in front of your face. The march stretched so far behind us that I wondered if some people were still lingering at camp, waiting their turn to begin. You can't really make a camp in the woods for hundreds of people, but people circled around the best they could in small clusters, making friends if they had none near at hand. Ali and I stayed neared Rye and Pann because they were familiar, and Prim because she seemed lost. Her mother flitted around, attending to injuries to the best of her ability.

Not often, but occasionally word would travel that so-and-so had stumbled, fallen, and was not going to get up. Too many people were starving to begin with, so that burns, cuts, head injuries and broken bones became too much. Some of the injuries were just too bad.

Because of this, we marched with the feel of death breathing down our necks. Death was an archer perched in the trees, picking us off one by one. Though Ali and I were mostly uninjured, strong, better fed than most, and unlikely to falter in our steps, still I kept him close.

That first night was the worst, before the monotony of routine set in. What hope we'd mustered in daylight deflated once the sun went down. Once our bodies stopped moving, our brains had nothing to do but replay the events of the day on the screens of closed eyelids. I curled up against a tree and pulled Ali against me; he was asleep seconds after his head hit my arm. Pann and Rye whispered nearby. Prim followed her mother for a bit, then lay down near us, tucked in between Gale's mom and Posy. I could hear her muffled crying and I didn't exactly keep my own eyes dry throughout the night, but Ali's steady breathing held me mostly together. Hardly anyone actually slept, kept awake by the sobbing and wailing, anguished screams, and everywhere growling stomachs. Morning was a welcome relief.

If the focus before had been just putting distance between ourselves and the District, in the ensuing days our attention shifted to the need for food. What food Gale had managed to store didn't last long when divided among so many. Mostly people grabbed berries where they could, dug up onions and ate them raw, or passed mushrooms around to their neighbors, trying to determine if they were safe to eat.

Gale could hunt beautifully; it was really something to watch him aim and let fly at a bird that I hadn't even noticed. Usually he'd run off on his own to hunt away from the noise of dragging feet and pained conversation. I tried to think of what Katniss would do. Every time we passed some new flower, patch of grass, or berry, I grabbed a handful and showed it to Mrs. Everdeen or Gale's mom, both knowing more than I did about plants. Little of it was edible. What I did manage to scavenge I shoved into Ali's hands. He ate without argument but with wide eyes and uncertain bites.

When we passed water, everyone drank as much as they could. Many filled their shoes with water and walked barefoot so that they might have something later, just in case. We frequently passed small streams, and those who had any knowledge would be called upon to decide whether the water was safe to drink. Usually it was. Still, there was the ever present fear that the stream we'd just left would be the last one.

Groups shifted some. I tried to stay near Gale because he knew what he was doing more than I did, and near Rye and Pann because I knew more what I was doing than they did. Sometimes we walked with Posy and Vick Hawthorne, Ali taking Posy's hands to help her step over fallen logs or around rocks. When Vick would offer me his hand for assistance, I'd accept, amused by his keenness to be a man. Other times we'd fall back and walk among some of the other townies -girls and boys I'd gone to school with who now looked perpetually dazed by the loss of parents or siblings. Or both.

Every so often Prim would walk with us, taking Ali's other hand and helping me lift him over slippery or steep patches. It was easy to understand why she'd walk with us, though we had little to nothing in common. She wanted to talk about her sister and I was a willing listener. She wanted me to smile and reassure her that everything would be okay. Katniss had nine lives. Katniss was blessed. She would outlive us all. I wasn't lying to her. I honestly believed it, and I didn't mind repeating it for Prim. Sometimes you just need to be reminded of what you know in heart.

She only ever mentioned Peeta to me once. It was after several days of walking. Ali still wasn't speaking, but I still wasn't worried. This was a lot to take in. At least he was clinging to my hand a little less, sometimes stepping away for a minute or two to look at something Posy pointed out. I never minded when he'd come stumbling back and wind his fingers through mine again, though. I felt like I'd float away into nothing if he wasn't holding onto me.

Ali was admiring some white flowers with Posy when Prim asked me, "You grew up being good friends with Peeta, didn't you? I thought I remember seeing you around him at school a lot."

"Yes, we were friends . . . close friends, I guess."

"What happened?" She didn't ask it iin a nosy way, not pushy like she was looking for something exciting. Just in a friendly, sweet way. Maybe she was being generous, feeling like she owed me some listening to if I wanted to speak, after I'd listened to her talk about her sister so much.

But I didn't want to talk about Peeta. I didn't _not_ want to talk about him. There just wasn't anything to say. It wasn't complicated, but it wasn't simple. Everything that needed to be said had been said, believe me.

So I shrugged and gave her what I hoped was a casual enough smile as I explained, "Well, sometimes you really need someone for a while. And then you grow up and don't need each other so much anymore. You outgrow each other."

Prim didn't bring Peeta up again. I don't know what she read in what I said, but I think she decided that it was cruel to talk to me about Katniss, too, so she didn't spend much time walking with us after that. I really didn't mind talking about Katniss. She was an amazing girl. She deserved an amazing guy. And I was flattered Prim had wanted to share her stories with me. Anyway, I had Ali; that was all I really needed.

Trying to really describe those days spent wandering through the forest are difficult because when I look back it all runs together in my head except for a few key occurrences.

There was the day Hazelle Hawthorne found the nest of eggs and insisted on sharing with Ali and I because I'd been keeping an eye on Posy and Vick while she was busy helping the unwell. We broke open the eggs to suck out what was inside only to discover little baby birds. I'd never felt so terrible in my life, but I was just so hungry.

There was the day it rained so hard that I slipped and slid down a great big hill, winding up covered in mud. It made everyone around me laugh so hard they cried. I was glad I'd made people smile, even if I did scrape my legs up pretty badly and have to slosh around covered in mud until we found a creek I could wash off in.

There was the day we saw two woodpeckers in a tree. We'd learned about them in school but they never actually came close enough to District 12 for us to see one. Ali gave a genuine smile for the first time in days and tried to tap on the tree as quickly as they did, but they just gave him a funny look and went back to pecking.

There was the day Pann spent trying to teach Ali and I how to whistle (we worked at it all day and it didn't happen, though Ali sometimes got a whispy whistle out).

There was the night I finally fell asleep, only to wake myself up crying from dreaming of my parents. I think usually my brain was smart enough to avoid thinking about them, but sometimes it slipped. I was never going to see my parents again.

There was the day we took a break along a river that was teeming with fish and used our shirts to catch them. That was day six, I'm almost positive, because it felt like everything was just about to fall apart until we found that creek. Everyone was tired and hungry and broken, and it was occurring to us all that we might not even know when we reached District 13. Maybe we'd walk right off the map. Maybe we'd starve to death.

But then we stopped and fished and ate until our stomachs bulged and passed fish further down the column. A full belly restored our faith in Gale, and we kept walking.

There was the day Gale carried Ali on his back and worried to me in a low whisper that he was leading everyone to their deaths. I don't remember what I said because I felt silly at the time to be listening to these concerns from someone who knew an awful lot more than I did about everything. But I must have said something comforting because he thanked me and patted me on the arm and went right on leading like I think he was born to do.

There was the night Ali woke me up with his crying and I knew that he knew we were never going to see our parents again. I didn't have to say it; he just knew. Maybe he felt the empty space right between his lungs like I did.

And then there was the day when we found a fence very similar to the one we'd climbed through in District 12, except that the barbed wire was rusted and surrounded by different trees and grassier hills.

Those of us towards the front of the column hesitated, suddenly nervous at what we'd find inside. Gale even suggested that perhaps a few people only should go ahead and inspect. But by this point people were tired of walking and waiting. Maybe those who thought we were walking to our death figured that was better than just more walking.

So ahead we surged. I held Ali's hands closer to me as we slipped through the fence. Once we were through, we saw the gate not too far to the left and rerouted so that people were simply walking into District 13, as easy as walking through the front door of your own house. If you had grown up in the world we did, you would realize what an amazing thing that was.

We followed the a main road, all eyes wide open for the slightest hint of civilization. Everything looked exactly as we expected to: buildings were in ruins, roadways overgrown, the place thoroughly uninhabited. I felt a swell of disappointment rising within me, mixed with a bit of fear. We had walked so far with the hope of finding safety here. What would we do if we'd been wrong?

But then we reached the city hall, the very same one we'd seen in videos so many times. Except it looked nothing like in the videos. The bricks weren't falling out; the roof wasn't caved in; the steps were whole and even, not a crack in site.

Then the door opened and a small crowd of people stepped forward. They were dressed strangely, all in matching outfits, their hair short regardless of gender. We pulled back, sensing Capitolness. Ali stepped behind me; I stepped the slightest bit behind Pann. I was never very brave.

There was a heavy pause in which everyone sized each other up, but before long a woman stepped forward from the group, threw her hands out and cried, "I am President Alma Coin. District 13 welcomes you!"

Suddenly, after so many days of the same monotonous walking, starving, trying to sleep, and walking some more, things happened very quickly. We'd been holding our breaths for so long, not daring to ask the doubtful questions at the back of our minds, that the sudden relief bubbling over us only added to the confusion as we were shepherded through the doors of City Hall. I didn't mind getting somewhat squashed in the surge of people, pressed between Hazelle and Pann, who was still supporting Rye without complaint, even after so many days of walking.

Somehow, stepping through those doors was scarier than setting off into the woods had been.

City Hall inside was somewhat dark and completely empty. Our footsteps echoed along the marble and stone; the lack of conversation was nerve-wracking. Some of the District 13 citizens that had come out to welcome us remained outside while three, including President Alma Coin, led the way along the corridors inside.

District 13 had apparently expected us. A hall of elevators carried us in small groups down below the earth. We were led down a series of hallways to a room larger than I had ever been in. At the far wall were a dozen desks, an immaculately clean person behind a computer. They seemed to all smile at the same time as we began filing into the room. Other than these people, the hall was entirely empty, and, with a dozen doors scattered on all four walls, gave the impression of a foyer.

"Please check in at the desks, one family at a time. You will be given instructions. No pushing, please," a voice commanded over a speaker system.

Not wanting to be first, I pulled Ali to the side and watched as people dove in front of each other to get the check in process over with. I understood the pull. It was safe to guess that the sooner you checked in, the sooner you'd get food, water, a shower, a bed. The process made me nervous, though. The fact that District 13 even existed was a lot to take in, but for it be such a calm, organized place was even more confusing. Not to mention that we were underground.

I watched as Pann and Rye were swept towards a desk and answered a battery of questions, wrote something, accepted two packets. I listened as checked-in families passed by me, walking down hallways pointed out to them by the people at the desks or by other officious looking residents who seemed to appear from nowhere as the hall began filling up. They were easy to spot with their uniforms.

As I watched, it became apparent that everyone with a serious injury was sent down the hall in the far left corner -Pann was separated from Rye as two District13 citizens brought a rolling chair for Rye to sit in. They looked distraught at the separation but too tired to fight it.

Other doors had themes, as well. The door in the middle of the back wall was only entered by parents with their children. Adults without children went through another door. Most importantly, though, I noticed that the young people who, like Ali and me, were not accompanied by parents were being separated by gender and sent through doors at the opposite ends of the hall.

Not wanting to jump to conclusions, I pulled Ali with me to the nearest District 13 resident and asked, "Excuse me, but why are the boys and girls being separated?"

"Families are given their own apartment. Orphans are sent to dormitories," the man answered, hardly giving me a glance. _Orphans._ I expected the word to make me feel ill but it didn't make me feel anything at all. I couldn't recognize that it applied to me.

"Dormitories," I repeated.

"So that they can be looked after by volunteers."

I felt the panic set in. I didn't want to be looked after by volunteers. I didn't want Ali sleeping in a dormitory far away from me. I didn't want anyone but me taking care of him. We hadn't gone through what we'd just gone through to be separated now.

I looked around for anyone to ask -but what was I going to ask them? Can you make a special exception for me and my brother? I know no one wants to be split up, but we really can't be split up, okay? Don't you understand?

But I'd never been an exception to anything. I'd never asked for special treatment before, so I didn't even know where to begin now. And who was there to ask, anyway? What was I going to do, track down Gale's mom or Prim's mom and ask them what I should do? I wasn't their responsibility and they had their own things to worry about. Besides, wasn't my whole point that I could take care of us on my own?

I've never been much of a liar. I guess I told the occasional fib as a kid, generally to cover for friends who'd done something bad that I didn't want to tattle on. I avoided lying because I genuinely believed it was wrong - it was unfair to other people to decide that they didn't deserve to know the truth - but also because I had realized at a young age that I was a really, really good liar. It's not a good feeling to realize that you're great at something that's bad. It worried me that there was something inherently evil inside of me. So instead of exploiting that, I chose to always tell the truth, to prove to myself and the world that I was a good person.

But now I had no choice. My two options were to either lie about my age and hope no one ratted me out, or tell the truth and live apart from Ali. The only thing in the world that can get me to bypass my own moral code is my brother's well being. It was a no-brainer. But that still didn't make me comfortable with it.

I pulled Ali up onto my hip and kissed his cheek. He felt so small. Had he lost weight? Too much weight? Was he sick? He still wasn't talking.

_Worry about one thing at a time._

I shoved my way into the nearest line and waited . . . waited . . . waited. It felt like forever that we stood in that noisy hall, trying to stay calm in the midst of so much chaos. When at last we reached the front of the line, my stomach did flip-flops. What if they knew I was lying? What if I wasn't such a good liar anymore? What would they do to me if I got caught? Would they care? Everything here seemed so serious and organized and intimidating.

"Welcome to District 13," the man greeted me as we approached the desk. I'd worked myself up so much about the upcoming lies that it caught me off guard when he gave me a friendly smile. He was young -older than me, but probably not much.

"Hi."

"What's your name and age?"

"Delly Cartwright. Well, Adela Cartwright. I'm . . . twenty. Almost twenty-one." Was it plausible? I felt like I still looked fourteen. Would he believe I was almost four years older than my actual age? Maybe he chalked my anxiety up to exhaustion; he typed this into the computer without question.

"Birthday?"

The year! Not wanting to be caught so quickly, I answered, "April 12th" and played dumb, not mentioning the year. I forced a smile. He didn't question it and I guess did the math himself.

"And his name and age?"

"Ali . . . Alistair Cartwright. He's six. February 7th." I almost said the birthyear but caught it before it rolled off my tongue. Instead I smiled again. Continuity in behavior is essential to a good lie.

"Relationship?"

"He's my little brother." I wondered momentarily if I should have claimed him as my son. It felt like spitting on my mother's memory, but I couldn't help but think she'd endorse it if it kept us together. It was too late now though.

"Do you have any other family here?"

It occurred to me that I didn't know for sure if any of my cousins, aunts, or uncles had made it out. We weren't close and, shameful to say, I hadn't thought of them once. It was possible they were somewhere further back in the line, that they hadn't thought of me either, that we'd live in District 13 together without ever even knowing the other was alive.

I felt tears drip down the side of my neck as Ali sniffled and tightened his grip around my neck. I rubbed his back and gave the man a quick shake of my head, obeying the urge to get through this process more quickly.

"What's your skillset?"

"Huh?"

The man didn't seem to mind my confusion and explained, "Alistair will go to school but, since you're an adult-" Did he know I was lying? "-you'll be required to work. We have many unskilled jobs available if you don't have any particular skills."

"Um . . ." I racked my brain. What could I do? "My family made shoes. I can sew and, um . . . I garden. I mean, I use to."

Ali was crying harder now. Was it because of the suggestion that we'd be apart during the day? I began to panic.

The man surprised me again by giving me an encouraging smile and suggested, "Would you rather do seamstress work or gardening?"

"Gardening," I answered without giving it much thought. Working in the dirt sounded more enjoyable than mending socks.

The man did some more quick typing, then printed a couple pages out, stapled them and handed them to me, explaining, "These are your identification papers. Just keep them in your room but wear the bracelets for now so you can be recognized as a refugee until you assimilate. You're in room E18. Go down that hall and take the elevators to floor neg-six. They'll give you clothing and toiletry packets as soon as you get off the elevator. Once you're in your room, use the telescreen to watch all of the welcome videos. I've already queued them up, so just press play. They'll tell you everything you need to know."

I thanked him, then slowly we pushed our way through the mobbed room until we reached the doorway he'd pointed us to - the doorway for families, thank goodness. The line for the elevators was long, but Ali was curious enough that he'd stopped crying and even let me put him down. We had elevators in City Hall back home, but Ali wouldn't have ever seen them before.

As soon as we stepped off the elevators on floor -6, women in light grey uniforms handed us packets and white sneakers One asked about my hand and if I needed medical attention. It hadn't even occurred to me before. My hand didn't hurt as badly anymore, though I didn't question how well it was actually healing. So I answered yes, but it wasn't an emergency. She typed into a computer and said that someone would be by at 17:00 to get me and guide me to the infirmary. They were requiring everyone to get physical examinations anyway, but she would bump mine up so my hand could get looked at. She patted Ali on the head but still looked so stoic and unsmiling as she did so that it gave the gesture a weird feeling.

Our room was down several turns in the hall, though clearly marked with little signs on the wall. The doors were labelled, dark grey against white. We stumbled along, sleep dragging us further down by the minute, until we found the one clearly marked: E18.

At long last, the door closed behind us, and the Cartwright children found themselves alone in their new home. It was an important moment but I just felt numb. My ears buzzed, unfamiliar with the silence. My eyes were confused by the bright indoor lights after so many days of sunshine But mostly, I just wanted to curl up in bed with Ali and sleep for a thousand years.

The room was plain and ugly. Everything was shades of grey and white. The floor was a short, dark grey carpet that felt rough when we slipped our shoes off. There were two beds, stuck in the wall like cubbies and stacked on top of each other. There was a small light and indented shelves in each one, which was sort of nice.

The far side of the room had a TV screen faced by two rather uncomfortable stuffed chairs. Two doors on the fourth wall led to a closet and a bathroom. Between the doors stood a plastic white chest of drawers. By the front door was a weird tube contraption I didn't understand.

We were starving but there didn't appear to be any food. We ripped open the packets we'd received in the hall to find hair brushes, soap, shampoo, fingernail clippers, deodorant in mine, toothbrushes and toothpaste, underwear, socks, and boring grey outfits that matched those we'd seen the citizens of District 13 wearing. Nothing edible. Food would have to wait, though we were on the verge of tears with hunger.

The bathroom had a mirror but I didn't want to look at myself until I'd showered. I bathed Ali first, scrubbed until his skin was pink, carefully brushed his short curls, and cut his nails until they were little boy fingers again instead of talons. Then he crawled into the bottom bunk and slept while I showered.

The feel of warm water washing the dirt from my skin was almost enough to bring me to tears. It might have. I was so tired that I didn't really know what my body was doing anymore. By the time I'd washed my hair, it looked like we'd dumped a flower pot in the bottom of the shower. I tried to rinse it off as best I could, but there was only so much I could do and I was too tired to really care.

I dried off, caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and could do nothing but stare. No wonder the guy at the front hadn't question my age. The exhaustion made me look older. So did the weight-loss. My face had shrunk -everything about me had shrunk, actually. I'd always been a bit on the rounder side (some mean girls at school had called me "Belly Delly") but all the baby fat had been left along the path to District 13. At my physical later, I'd learn that over the course of the twelve day walk, I'd lost almost twenty-five pounds. It's crazy what stress, not eating, and walking nonstop will do.

My body was covered in bruises, scrapes, and small burns I'd never even noticed. There was a small burned bald spot at my left temple. I don't know if everyone had been being nice in not telling me, or if we were just all so beat up that no one noticed. I'd never looked like this. But it sort of made me laugh, and it definitely made me smile. I felt like I'd earned something, some sort of new, thicker skin. My body had always been so clean and protected. The state of my body now made me feel alive, which was so silly that I laughed at myself.

If I was a superhero, I think my power would be that I could find things to laugh and be happy about in really, really weird places. It's not a very good superpower but I guess at least it's something. I looked like a half-drowned cat that had fallen into the fireplace and yet it amused me.

Ali and I had already chugged water from the bathroom faucet until our stomachs were were starving, though; his stomach was growling in his sleep. Without any idea where to get food, though, and unwilling to go wandering, I perched in one of the uncomfortable chairs and used the remote to turn the TV on. It automatically queued up to the three videos the man had mentioned: the first explaining the daily routine of District 13, the second telling me more about my new job in the agricultural unit, and the third expounding on the wonders of the school Ali would be going to.

I won't bore you with the details, but suffice to say that it was a lot to take in at once. I was momentarily so overwhelmed by this _manual_ for what my life was going to be like now, that I forgot I was hungry. A daily schedule tattooed on my arm? Only eating during certain timeslots and only certain amounts? Only wearing these ugly grey outfits? Mandatory lights out every night? The difference between this and my old way of life brought the tears back again.

I went to the bathroom, shut the door, and perched on the edge of the bath tub. I had fifteen minutes, I told myself, to feel sorry for myself and miss my parents. Fifteen minutes only, and then I needed to accept that this was our life, and we'd have to adapt and be happy about it. Fifteen minutes left of being a little girl, if I even still qualified, and then I needed to be an adult.

You can do a lot of crying in fifteen minutes. I hope you'll have to take my word for it.

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><p><em>AN: About the timeline: Maybe it's just me, but I can't figure out the timeline for end of Catching Fireearly Mockingjay. Tributes blow up the arena, so the Capitol firebombs D12, I'm guessing pretty quickly since this happens before Katniss wakes up in D13. Gale gets about 1000 people out and they WALK to D13 in the same span of time it takes the hovercraft with Katniss to get there and wake up. Was Katniss unconscious for like two weeks before she woke up in D13 and saw Gale? Anyway, it doesn't totally matter, because I'll do what I want [ie: make the timeline make sense to me]. We need a detailed HG timeline like LoTR, Narnia, HP and Twilight. I'm just going to throw that out there . . ._


	4. Upgrades and Downgrades

_AN: Short chapter after the previous one was so long. Thanks Solaryllis for reminding me that in book a hovercraft picks up the D12 refugees and for pointing out that for some reason I spelled Posy's name "Posey". I'm still keeping the hike in place for the purpose of my story and I may be stretching out the war to last longer too . . . but I definitely appreciate the fact-checking help and I'm glad to know I'm not crazy! Also you guys, I'm on tumblr now like a silly fangirl. :) My blog name on there is ShilohPR.  
><em>

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><p><strong>Chapter Four: Upgrades and Downgrades<strong>

The first afternoon and evening were so chaotic. So many hundreds of people were trying to quickly adapt to a new lifestyle, one so entirely opposite what we had been used to before, that there was bound to be confusion. Ali and I followed one crowd after another, first to the dining hall to eat far less than our stomachs craved, then back to our room, then to the infirmary where they weighed us and performed some crazy healing on my hand using a noisy machine, then back to our rooms. By the next morning, my hand was feeling better than it had since it had been stepped on, and I could even use my fingers again, though they were a bit stiff.

In the morning Ali and I placed our arms in the schedule tattoo-er as directed. I expected pain but it just felt like a giant, felted tongue licking me from wrist to elbow -odd, to say the least, but not particularly unpleasant. We ate breakfast while studying a map, then I managed to guide us to Ali's class with minimal difficulty.

Ali's teacher was named Miss Ainsley; she was young, bright-eyed, and clearly excited at the sudden influx of children. She bustled from parent to parent, shaking hands and patting heads. I could out-bubble her on a good day, but compared to everyone else we'd met in District 13, so was positively glowing.

When she reached Ali and me, I introduced, "This is my brother, Ali Cartwright." As she checked his name off a list, I leaned in and added in a low voice, "He's still pretty upset after all that happened, and he's not really talking yet. I'm a bit nervous about leaving him-"

"Oh, don't worry about it at all," she assured me, patting my arm and reaching out for Ali's hand. "We fully understand that the children have been through a lot and are absolutely going to provide the support that's needed for them to calm down and settle in." Her confidence did little to appease my anxiety at leaving my brother, but Ali had spotted Posy across the room and was already joining her. I felt a slight pang that he left my side so easily, but was generally glad the departure wouldn't be a big scene. Still, it was hard to tear myself away from his classroom, and I felt a weight in my stomach as soon as he was out of sight that didn't go away until I was back with him later.

I'd expected my "agricultural" work to be backbreaking, and it was physical, but I enjoyed the work. I spent the morning pushing a cart down perfectly turned rows of soil to embed seeds, and the afternoon weeding tomato beds. The fields were all indoors, which was pretty mind-blowing, and climate-controlled, so that District 13 could completely dictate the growing seasons. Only in District 13 could strawberries and corn grow at the same time of year only a room apart.

I nicked a strawberry -which we'd been warned up and down is against the rules, but I managed to not get caught- but they didn't taste quite the way strawberries are supposed to. I guess you can't have everything, but it seems to me that it'd be better to only have strawberries for one part of the year and have them be really good than to get them year round but have them taste . . . fake.

I still had an hour or so of work left before I was to go to something called "Command" when one of the heads of the field I was working in told me I was wanted in the infirmary.

Of course I assumed it was something to do with Ali and sprinted through the hallways, getting lost multiple times and having to frantically ask directions of anyone I happened to pass.

When at least I reached the infirmary, I was passed along several nurses until finally one told me, "Rye Mellark asked for you." My relief nearly brought me to my knees. "Normally we don't call workers away from their tasks," the nurse continued, motioning for me to follow. "But there's been some distressing news and . . . well, I thought we could make an exception this once."

"What do you mean, distressing news?" I pressed, slowing, my relief quickly evaporating. Was Rye _dying_? The thought that we'd dragged him all this way only for him to die made my legs wobbly and my stomach churn. He'd been injured, sure, but I hadn't thought any moreso than anyone else! In fact, the further we'd gotten from District 12, the more his spirits had lifted and the better he'd seemed to feel. Had something caused a drastic turnaround?

The nurse merely motioned again for me to follow and led the way to a small room, one among many, with glass windows that showed only a curtain from the hall.

"Delly Cartwright is here," the nurse announced, waiting a second before sliding the curtain to the side. Rye sat in the bed, his leg propped up and completely wrapped in a hard plastic cast. Pann sat in a chair beside him. They weren't touching, but they both stared blankly at the same spot on the far wall, which gave them the appearance of connectedness.

The nurse pulled the curtain closed behind me and was gone in an instant, before they'd even acknowledged my presence.

"Hey guys," I ventured, stepping forward slowly and crossing my arms. Rye didn't _look_ like he was dying . . . If that wasn't the case I couldn't imagine why they would . . .

The thought died in my mind before it had even finished. I pushed it away and tried to smile. I'd known this day was coming, hadn't I? But no, I hadn't, because I'd spent the past year and a half genuinely believing everything would be alright. It had to be alright.

"Katniss is here," Rye finally explained, avoiding my eyes. That could mean anything, right?

"It's just, we know you were close to Peeta before the Games and . . ." Pann continued when Rye didn't. It felt like someone had kicked me in the stomach and knocked the wind from my lungs. It was easier to keep the smile plastered on my face than to actually react to what it sounded like they were saying.

"So he's . . ."

"The Tributes blew up the arena, like Gale told us," Pann said. "This whole time, there's been a rebellion in the works. The Gameskeeper, Plutarch Heavensbee, was involved; so was Haymitch Abernathy. Blowing up the arena was part of a big conspiracy. When shit went down, they were ready and-"

"Who blew up the arena?"

"Katniss," Rye answered.

Pann continued,"They got Katniss out, and two other Tributes. The Capitol got Peeta."

Again the breath rushed from my chest, but this time in relief. My forced smile relaxed and I shook my head, "Geez, guys. The way you're acting, I thought you were going to tell me he's dead!"

Pann and Rye shared a confused look before repeating, "We have every reason to believe he's dead. The Capitol has-"

"The Capitol has had him for over a year now," I reminded. "Don't you think if they'd wanted him dead, they would have made sure he died in the Games last year? Or been killed off early in these Games? Or had an 'accident' at some point in between?" Talking about Peeta for this long was making me uncomfortable, but it was easier to discuss him in the framework of reassuring Pann and Rye. My relief temporarily outweighed every other emotion.

"But why would they bother keeping him alive? What good is he alive?" Rye pressed.

"Well he's certainly no good to them dead, now is he," I retorted. "Look, I'm not going to try and convince you that your brother is alive. If you'd rather believe he's dead, then that's your own business. But I just don't think it makes much sense for them to not keep him alive. I tend to be right about these things, you know. He's probably just locked up in a cell. I bet they're even taking good care of him while they try to figure out the best thing to do with him. They'll probably want to trade him for . . . I don't know, weapons or something."

Pann's shoulders relaxed just the slightest bit as he considered this, but Rye was unconvinced.

He stared at his hands for a moment, then turned on me with a surprising fury, "Look, could you cut the sunshine shit for a moment? We didn't call you in here to try and drag us down into your deluded little world of peace and love." Pann stood to interrupt him but Rye held his hand up and continued, glaring at me but softening his voice, "I asked for you because I know you love my brother and I wanted you to hear this from us first."

His anger didn't bother me. It wasn't the first time my optimism had rubbed someone the wrong way. But his conclusion as to the nature of my feelings for his brother made me flustered and his use of the word _love,_ present tense, made my stomach twinge. My smile may have faltered for a moment, but I quickly plastered it back on and insisted, "I appreciate your concern, as misguided as it is, but I'm not being deluded. I will continue to believe in him-"

"Believe in him? This isn't about believing in him, Delly. You'd better _hope_ he's dead." I'd managed to kick off his anger again, and he leaned forward to explain to me as though I were some idiot child, "Peeta was part of a conspiracy. They aren't going to hold his hand and feed him cookies until he feels like talking. They're going to _make_ him talk. It's not that we don't believe he's dead, we _hope_ he's dead. The stronger he is, the worse it's going to be for him. If we're lucky, he's already dead."

This was not something that had ever entered my mind -or perhaps it had and I'd simply sent the idea packing before it had taken root. Peeta always told me I had the biggest imagination of anyone he'd ever met. At times like these, it was the best and worst trait. Already my brain was giving flesh and blood to Rye's suggestion. But, just as quickly, I pushed those thoughts down, blinked them back with the threatening tears, and pressed my lips into my typical smile, as fake as I knew it looked.

"I suppose I'm simply more selfish than you are," I finally said, letting my hands fall to my sides and shrugging. "But nothing could ever make me hope for Peeta's death. Ever."

"No matter how badly they-"

"Katniss will piece him back together," I assured them. "That's enough for me." I paused at the door, already dreading what I was going to say but knowing it was for the best. "I appreciate you thinking of me, but now that Katniss is here, I don't belong as part of this family anymore. I wouldn't want to overstep my boundaries. I wish you a speedy recovery, Rye."

Gale was just outside the door. I don't know what, if anything, he heard. If he tried to say anything, I missed it as I hurried from the infirmary. It wasn't so much that I wanted to put distance between myself and the Mellarks -actually quite the opposite- but the idea of running into Katniss made me nervous, and she was no doubt close by. I'd grown up with her, but that was before she become this hero of the rebellion. I knew I'd look like a total idiot if I tried to say anything to her. What do you even say to someone who's been through all that she'd been through? I didn't want to say something stupid or, worse, just stare like an idiot.

I also didn't know if I could stand to see her safely here while Peeta, blindly loyal and painfully doting Peeta, was being rolled along the knuckles of the Capitol.  
>Instead of going back to work, since my shift was almost over anyway, I went to Ali's school early. I guess people never departed from their schedules because Miss Ainsley looked startled to see me, but she invited me in and let me join the kids. They were sitting in a circle on the carpet, reciting times tables. We hadn't learned those until third year, and here they were in first year learning them. Ali crawled into my lap and Posy leaned against me on one side and some child I didn't even know wanted to hold my hand.<p>

"The children really like you," Miss Ainsley commented an hour later, when parents or guardians had gathered their children and it was only the three of us left in the classroom. I had Command in only a few minutes, but Ali and I lingered to help Miss Ainsley clean the room.

"I've always been comfortable with kids," I shrugged. I hastily remembered not to mention the fact that, at seventeen, I sort of _was_ still a kid. In the system, I was twenty, I needed to remember.

She patted Ali on the head again and walked us to the door, suggesting as she went, "Would you be at all interested in helping in here?"

"They put me in agriculture-"

"I'm sure they did. We're very . . . _protective_ of children here." She glanced around the room as she said it and then dropped her voice. "We're not supposed to talk about it but there was a disease. No one knows what caused it, though I know a lot of people blame the Capitol. Biological warfare or whatnot. It killed off so many of us and left a lot of women barren, or left them affected so that they gave birth to barren daughters in turn. Not everyone, mind you, but . . . most of us." It was obvious she was one of the barren, judging by the way she looked down at her fingers.

"I'm sorry."

"Well, that's why you'll see children are sort of revered here. Not just anyone gets to work with them. If you'd like, though, I bet I could make a case to have you work here with me. I don't imagine agriculture is much fun."

"It's not bad," I assured her. The truth was, though, that I _would_ much rather work in here with Ali. It was a much happier place. I actually felt somewhat at home here in the classroom. "But I would love to be able to help out in here, if you could use me."

"I'll see what I can do," she winked, patting my arm. "I'll see you tomorrow, Ali!" He waved at her as we left to find our Command meeting.

I'm not sure how difficult it was or what strings had needed to be pulled to get a refugee into a childcare position, but by the end of Command I was informed that I would now be reporting to Ainsley instead of agriculture.

In two weeks I'd gone from cobbler's daughter to nomad to farm laborer to "First Year Teacher's Assistant." Ali wasn't talking, but he beamed at the news that I'd be with him every day, and even giggled when we sat next to one of his classmates in the dining hall at dinner and they made walrus teeth with their fake green beans. My hand was feeling almost completely back to normal except for an occasional locking in my ring and pinky fingers.

Not to mention Peeta was alive. Not safe yet, but alive.

Finally we were settled. After two weeks of chaos and confusion and an uncertainty about the future that I'd had to really work to grin and bear, life was beginning to fall in place, albeit completely different from the life we'd known. Still. The tears of the night before seemed years behind me. For the first time in weeks, I almost slept through the night.

Not safe yet, but alive.


	5. Spiraling

_Thank you SO much to those of you who have emailed and nagged me. I sucked. I have no excuse other than chaotic work schedule for my three jobs and a backpacking trip to Costa Rica. Here's chapter five. I'm having to fight my desire to skip ahead but I'll be a good author and not sacrifice the story!_

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><p><strong>Chapter Five: Spiraling<strong>

The peace did not last long.

Children screamed and fled to the edges of the room, climbing onto shelves and tables and chairs to get away from the tangle of arms and legs rolling around the room. In District 12, schoolyard fights had been a daily occurrence, but here they were rare enough that even Ainsley froze in horror and confusion. It was lucky we dealt with young kids, or I never would have been able to pull the boys apart by myself. As it was, I was struggling to keep them out of arm's reach of each other until Ainsley finally stepped into action, wrapping her arms around the other boy so that I could fully restrain Ali.

Ali. My brother Ali. My peaceful, shy, quiet little Ali panted in my arms, his chest heaving, tears streaming down his face and mingling with his bloody lip. It was nothing compared to the nail scratches down the side of the other kids' face, though, or the blood streaming from his nose. Eventually he would develop a shiny black eye in contrast to the small bruise forming on Ali's cheekbone.

And the worst part was that Ali had thrown the first punch.

The other boy, Evanston, could be a smarmy little thing, but then, I guess most six-year-old sons of commanders probably are. I didn't know anything about his father in particular except what his son boasted about in class which, if even half of it were true, meant Evanston's father was a rather important man.

Ali had wanted initially to work with me as we'd pulled out the lesson books, but I'd firmly but gently explained that he needed to work with his peers, just like everyone else. Then he'd tried to rope me into a song of The Itsy Bitsy Spider, grabbing at my hands and trying to force my fingers through the hand-gestures. I'd picked him up, set him in his chair, and insisted he stay in it. He'd sulked for a few minutes but then fallen to work and I'd thought all was forgotten.

Maybe Evanston had said something that set Ali off. Maybe he'd done nothing and just happened to be the closest body. I couldn't tell you. One minute all was calm as we worked in small groups on logic problems and then the next, screams and shrieks and the dull thud of little boy fists trying to do some damage. I'd watched in slow motion as Ali turned to Evanston, dragged his fist back, and let fly at the other boy's face.

Afterwards, as we tried to reign the class back in and staunch the flow of blood from Evanston's nose, Ali calmed almost immediately. His breathing quieted, he sniffled a few times and wiped away his tears, then grabbed at my hands again, motioning for the Itsy Bitsy Spider. The other children kept their distance from Ali for the rest of the afternoon, even Posy, who normally let hardly a foot of space come between them. Ainsley encouraged us to leave before parents started arriving, promising to deal with Evanston's father and smooth things over.

Still, I practically trembled with fear as I hauled Ali through the halls back to our room. He didn't understand my hurry and wanted to skip or walk on his toes or hop like a rabbit but I just wanted to be hidden away. I smiled at everyone we passed, hoping to distract them from Ali's bashed face, but it was hard to miss the curious glances.

I collapsed on my bed as soon as we were in the room. I didn't really care what Ali did. I just needed to decompress. I was so tired, though, that as soon as I lay back, the concrete thoughts I fought so hard to grasp melted and slid from me.

I slept for hours until pounding at the door pulled me quickly from blank sleep. Obviously I feared it was Evanston's dad, come to take Ali from my care. Before I could warn Ali to pretend we weren't here, though, he'd already opened the door and waved cheerfully.

Gale stepped through and I relaxed. Pushing myself from the bed, I stretched to loosen my stiff shoulders and pop my back, cringing at the crackle of my joints.

"That didn't sound too good, old lady," he teased. His eyes were trained on Ali's face, though, and he frowned. "What happened here? And here? And . . . there?" He pointed first at Ali's face, but then to the walls and next to the television screen.

"No- no! Ali, what did you do?" I cried. Great big circles in blue and green looped along the lower third of two walls. A chair had been pushed in front of the television so that Ali could reach high enough to scribble across the screen, short jagged lines between long arcs. I leapt forward and pried open his fingers to remove the small blunt stubs of the crayons that were left. He managed to shove one quickly into his mouth.

I threw my hands up in despair and turned to Gale, trying to smile despite my frustration in the hopes of not looking like a completely incompetent care-giver, "I just don't know what's gotten into him today. He's been such a _boy_."

"Fighting?"

"Fighting, vandalism."

"All of a boy's favorite things," Gale laughed. "Stop giving your sister such a hard time, kid. You're wearing her out." He tweaked Ali's ear, but Ali just grinned innocently up at him, pushing the piece of crayon slowly through his lips like a tongue. "Fortunately, I've got something that will cheer you up. But we'll need to scrub this off first . . . " He turned to the television again and scratched at the crayon with his nail. "Well, that's not too bad. You got a razor?"

I brought him my shaving razor and sat in one of the awful plastic chairs as he broke the plastic to get at just the blades. Ali watched me hesitantly for a moment before apparently deciding he'd done nothing to be ashamed of and climbing into my lap. I was angry enough not to wrap my arms around him, but never angry enough to push him away. After only a few minutes of Gale's casual chatter and Ali's playful smiles, I felt my anger melt and slide off me like a loose blanket.

Gale generally sought us out at least once a day to chat and, I gathered, decompress. The seriousness he usually met me with left me feeling scrambled and overly energetic to compensate, and over time we'd wear each other down to meet somewhere in the middle, a nice, peaceful zone.

Since arriving in D13, Gale had immediately been pulled into the inner circle, no doubt having proven himself by leading so many people already. He kept me moderately up to date with the news that didn't get shared with the district at large during our daily command meetings. Gale let me know the highlights: who was rebelling, how it was going, how the Capitol was responding. Occasionally things were overheard in the cafeteria, but since I usually ate with other parents . . . well, conversations in my world generally revolved around runny noses, school subjects, and penmanship.

But Gale was right in the thick of it, for better or for worse. He spent his days running messages, listening in on important meetings discussing things I didn't want to know, and in general being an ambassador of sorts for us D12 refugees. He told me just enough to keep me from sounding like a complete bumblehead if anything important did come up in the course of conversation throughout the day, which I appreciated, because I found it increasingly difficult to pay much attention to the news reels shown in command. No point in me getting worked up about things I couldn't control anyway -especially not when I was struggling so much just to keep Ali out of trouble. Still, there are some things it's good to know.

Such as that Panem was at war. The districts were rebelling, one after another, but the Capitol was fighting back. President Coin, the leader of D13, was optimistic, but Gale admitted that no one was winning yet. You know, small things like that.

"You slept through dinner," Gale said, his face pressed against the screen as he carefully slid the razor across. "If you go by the infirmary and tell them you were sick, I bet they'll give you something."

"Maybe I will," I said, shrugging, which meant I wouldn't unless Ali got hungry. For now, he seemed content to tug on my hair and suck his thumb. He hadn't done that in years.

"Rye's not there anymore," he mentioned casually. "He's walking again so they kicked him out. Him and Pann have rooms in another wing. He was pretty grumpy about having to leave. I think he got a bit spoiled, having all those nurses to wait on him and all that."

"Spoiled? Certainly not. That doesn't sound like Rye at all!"

"It's weird when you're sarcastic," Gale laughed, tossing a quick glance at me.

"I'm sorry. I'm just tired. How's Katniss?" He shrugged and said nothing, which I'd learned meant he just needed a little encouragement. He didn't like to sound like he was obsessing. One of those _stoically_ nurturing types. "She still in the hospital wing?"

"Yeah, but she's doing better. She's sleeping less, talking more. Still just spends an awful lot of time worrying about _him_, especially after today . . . "

"Oh?"

He gave me a sly smile that made my stomach leap up into my throat. What did _that_ mean? I sat up straighter and Ali, copying my behavior, watched my face carefully.

"Patience," was all Gale said about it, then continued, "Anyway, she's fine. Distant and wild."

"You knew to expect this. You have to protect yourself a little bit better, Gale," I admonished. "Once he's rescued and they're back together, you have to gracefully back off."

"Do I?" I couldn't tell whether he said it sadly or meanly or wishfully. It was often hard to tell with Gale.

"Yes," I insisted. "And it'd be smart to back off a little bit more now to save yourself the heartache later. I mean, unless she decides that you shouldn't, but . . ."

"But," he finished for me, "implying to me that _that_ is even a remote possibility would imply that _he_ would then be free to choose you, or even that he would choose you over her in the first place, and you would never suggest something so optimistic for yourself. Heaven forbid their attachment be platonic. You can be hopeful for everyone else, but shit storms and short britches if you suggested that something positive happen for _you_-"

"Just because you discover you're allergic to peanuts doesn't mean celery is your new favorite food."

He had a good hard laugh at that, shaking his head, and mumbling so I could barely hear it, "I like you better when you're bitter-"

"I'm never bitter!" I insisted, taking off my shoe and throwing it at him. It hit him squarely in the back.

"Hitting an enemy from behind!" he said as he gave the screen one final glance over. He pulled a small square disc he'd brought with him and inserted it at the top of the screen.

"You're not my enemy," I argued.

"We'll see how you feel about that in a minute." He sat down in the other chair and, taking the remote for the TV, explained, "This aired today. We watched it earlier this afternoon. It's sort of being kept under wraps here in D-13 so don't go telling anyone you've seen it. I'm not supposed to even have a copy of this but . . . you were wrong, Del, what you told Rye, about not belonging-"

"You don't know much about it," I reminded as nicely as I could. There was a waver in my voice, though. It didn't take an idiot to know this had something to do with Peeta, and I suddenly wanted nothing more than for Gale to leave and take the disc with him. I wasn't supposed to see this and I didn't want to. His seriousness now compared to his light-heartedness a moment ago confused me, but the terror at what this disc would show me overruled all rational thought. He didn't seem particularly upset, but that could mean anything. Peeta was, after all, his rival, and his concern for him was mainly just for Katniss' benefit, and maybe mine too.

"I know that you care about Peeta very much, maybe more than anyone else here-"

"Except Katniss. And his brothers," I interjected.

"Except Katniss," he repeated, sighing. I hadn't meant to hurt him. It was a reflex I'd trained myself into at this point. Anytime Peeta got mentioned, saying Katniss afterwards was like a pallet cleanser. It took the sad taste out of my mouth. It kept my mind from running away from me by placing a brick wall smack dab in its path.

"Sorry."

"You deserve to know what's going on," Gale concluded. "For better or worse. Whether you want to or not, even. I don't envy you your . . . well, I would want to know." Perhaps I looked more panicked than I realized. He gave me an encouraging smile and reminded, "Breathe."

Saying no more, he used the remote to bring up the video.

And there was Peeta. He looked tired and stressed; I could see the circles under his eyes, the sharp gesturing, the uncertainty in his rapid glances. But to the casual observer, he no doubt looked as healthy as you could want to be.

But more importantly, in all other respects, he looked fine. Exhaustion and stress were to be expected. He was a prisoner. But he didn't look like he was being starved or abused or tortured, as Rye had hinted at. He looked unhappy but well-cared for as he answered Cesar's questions in long, meandering sentences. He was rambling. He was performing. He'd done that since he was a scared little boy, trying to find the right thing to appease his mom or teacher or brothers or whomever. Once you know them, the symptoms are impossible to miss. He glanced at the people near him at least once every five seconds to make sure he still had them. He looked down into his palms as though reading cue cards then lifted his palms to the person he was speaking to, in this case that Caesar Flickerman host, as though offering his sincerity. He looked up through his lashes, a supplicating expression that was impossible to deny. He laughed unhappily and scratched the side of his neck, which always flushed the slightest bit and itched when he was concentrating on word-weaving. To cap his speech, he'd slap his knees or clap his hands and gesture to the person he was talking to, turning those blue eyes to them and waiting outwardly calmly, inwardly anxiously, to see what they would do with his story. He talked about the last night in the arena, he defended Katniss' innocence in the rebellion, he even yelled at one point. Then he asked to be taken back to his cell, sounding bored and hopeless. But not like he was facing certain death.

Caesar thanked him and the video cut out.

"This could have been pre-recorded," Gale admitted after a moment of silence. "It doesn't necessarily mean anything _now_ but-"

"But it means he made it out of the arena all right," I pointed out.

Gale nodded, "And, more importantly, it means they realize he has a value to them. They aired this in all the districts."

"So they think he can convince everyone to make peace?"

"Maybe," Gale shrugged. "Or they want to flaunt him because they think we'll start making offers. Who knows."

"But this is good . . ." I broached hesitantly, wishing Gale would stop telling me theories and tell me what it meant for sure. He gave such an air of someone who knows all the answers.

Gale smiled, "It could be much, much worse."

"Thank you."

"No problem, Delly. I'll leave it here in case . . . just so you have a copy. I've got to get going." He didn't say where but I assumed to check on Katniss. He tweaked Ali's nose and took off, leaving me staring at the blank TV screen, trying to ignore the inexplicable nagging fear. Peeta looked fine in the video. Angry, frustrated, unhappy, but mentally and physically fine. Even Gale said it was basically good news. Spinning this to the positive was easy.

But why did I have such a sinking feeling in my stomach still?

* * *

><p>I was up earlier than necessary the next morning, already nervous about work. The schedule still had me reporting to Ainsley for work, though, so unless they were planning on pouncing on me there, it looked like Ainsley had succeeded in smoothing things over. Somehow, despite waking up earlier, Ali and I were still late getting out the door, late to breakfast, and just barely dashed into his class before the last kid was dropped off.<p>

Evanston wasn't in class, I noticed immediately, but Ainsley gave me a warm smile so I pushed the worry from my mind. We went about morning lessons and activities without incident, and finally at nap time I managed to have a word privately with her to find out more.

"His father moved him to another class," Ainsley admitted, "but didn't seem otherwise too upset about it. The head of education was a bit more concerned, but as long as it doesn't happen again, I think it'll be forgotten pretty quickly. They were able to heal Evanston's scratches completely already. You should take Ali by the infirmary after class and see if they're able to do anything about his face."

So once all the kids were picked up at the end of the day, that's exactly where we went, walking quickly through the halls, fingers crossed we wouldn't run into Katniss or Rye or Evanston and his father. The list of people I was avoiding was growing quickly but, since conflict was the very thing I was hoping to avoid, I didn't see any way to fix it.

The nurse didn't ask questions as she led us to a table and motioned for Ali to hop up. I held his hand as the nurse spread various gels and creams on his bruises and cut lip. He made a face at the cold sensation of healing but otherwise behaved, for which I was grateful. He made faces at his reflection on a shiny metal cabinet door as the bruises faded.

As the nurse was making a final note in his file, Prim floated by. Seeing us, she descended, giving Ali a big kiss on the cheek and asking him what was wrong while also asking how I was and giving me a hug. How she managed to do so much at once was confusing at best, but she was like a little ball of sunlight bouncing all over the place. I could only imagine the relief she felt at having her sister close by again. It was endearing to see the effect.

"They let me help out here after work!" she explained. Then, hearing her name called, she took off, gone as quickly as she'd appeared. I caught sight of a brown braid and decided it was time for Ali and I to make our departure.

* * *

><p>I thought we'd pass an entire day without incident. We almost did. As we were getting ready for bed, Ali started grabbing my hands. trying to pull himself up onto my hip. I was trying to brush my teeth and batted him away. He became more insistent.<p>

"Ali, it's bed time! Brush your teeth, please."

He began to whine and stomped on my foot.

"Alistair Cartwright, you stop that right now!"

Instead, he mimicked rocking a baby with his arms and looked at my pleadingly.

"Please, I'm tired. Let's just go to bed. You don't have to brush your teeth." I pulled back the covers on his bed and motioned for him to get in.

That's when he started screaming. The first genuine vocals I'd heard from my little brother in weeks and it was a bloodcurdling scream as he fell to the ground like someone had hit him.

I lunged forward and pulled him up, hugging him to me and hushing him frantically, but to no avail. I could practically feel the lights flicking on in all the rooms along the hallway as people rolled out of bed, confused and alarmed by the shrieks coming from my room.

"Swing lo, sweet chariot," I tried to sing, rocking him in my arms, but it didn't work. Ali had got himself started and wasn't about to stop. He screamed until he was red in the face, until his dry throat made him cough between breaths, until the tears streaming down his face and mingled with snot.

In a final act of desperation, I turned the TV on as I continued to sing more loudly, hoping one of the generic programs that always ran would be enough to distract him.

Instead, the TV spot with Peeta started from the beginning. As I fumbled with the remote to change it, Ali's screaming subsided. I felt his body relax as he leaned back against me and pushed his thumb into his mouth.

"I bet you thought you'd done your last interview with me*," Peeta said. Ali stopped screaming entirely, the only sound coming from him now a constant sniffle.

"I confess I did*," Caesar said. Peeta met Caesar's laugh with a small smile. The corners of Ali's mouth tipped up slightly.

I stopped singing when I heard footsteps stop outside our door. It made sense that someone would come to investigate what was going on. But I wasn't about to open the door. Hearing nothing, whoever it was turned and left anyway.

The TV spot ended. I waited to see what Ali would do. He motioned to the remote in my hand and, when I did nothing, hit the 'play' button on it. As the video began again, he motioned with his arms in the rocking motion again.

So I rocked him gently and sang as Peeta and Caesar talked about Peeta's plans to die for Katniss, his anger at the rebellion, his dislike for war, his desire for peace. We watched it second time, and a third, and a fourth. By the fifth time, Ali's eyes were drifting closed and I felt like I was going crazy. It had been bad enough to sit through the video once, but now on my sixth viewing, every nerve ending in my body felt frayed.

I was certainly not an advocate of war. I hadn't the stomach or the mind for warfare. But it was painfully clear to me that Peeta didn't know about District 12. He didn't know about his parents. He didn't realize that the very world he was speaking out to protect was already gone. It was too late. We couldn't go back because there was nothing to go back to. He had to think there was something he was still trying to protect. Otherwise, if nothing else, he'd have dropped the lie about Katniss being pregnant and them being secretly married. I'd known it was all fake even before Gale and Pann had both off-handedly confirmed it. There had to be something else going on, I was certain, for Peeta to be saying the sorts of things he was saying.

When a second video was aired a few days later, which Gale hesitantly brought to me again, it only confirmed the fears I'd tried to ignore: that Peeta was not as all right as he was trying to look. In fact, he was very, very not all right. The second video showed him significantly thinner, exponentially more haggard, and rigid as though the slightest movement made him hurt. The interview was concise to the point of feeling completely and entirely scripted. Peeta's voice wasn't his own, that much was clear, and he was no longer sitting around in a cell building houses of cards.

Peeta had been my best friend for most of my life. As kids, I'd always been able to tell when he was scared, when he was hurt, when he was angry, and when he was sad without a word being said. I could tell when he was lying, when he was pretending, and when he was trying. I didn't have to see the second video to know it would confirm what I had finally come to realize after seven viewings of the first, what I would have known for sure earlier if I hadn't been clinging so hard to my faith in the goodness of people despite all the evidence in the world to the contrary.

When I was five, I stepped on a nail while running around barefoot. I know, the irony of the cobbler's daughter running around barefoot and stepping on a nail. My dad couldn't have paid for better advertising. It was a stray nail on the porch of the Mellark's bakery -and this is actually when Peeta and I became friends, because neither one of us was exactly the type of kid to go up to a stranger and broach the subject of friendship.

I was chasing a stray dog and running around barefoot because that's what silly children do, and I stepped on a nail. I felt this poke in my foot, literally felt the skin push apart, and then this cold shiver ran up my body. Then my stomach dropped and my breath caught in my throat because I could tell something was very wrong. It wasn't until I lifted my foot up and saw the nail sticking out of it that the excruciating pain started. At that point I began screaming and, five-year-old Peeta, seeing the nail sticking out, grabbed my hand and burst into tears with me, even as he was pulling me inside to get help from his mom. That was before she got so mean, and she gave us cookies to eat while she ran to get the doctor and sent Mr. Mellark to get my parents. This was a week before we started real school, so I limped in on the first day, and Peeta held my hand when a couple other kids made fun of how I was walking. Then Katniss sang and, well, you heard the confession of what that moment meant straight from the source, though I didn't know to dread that memory until years later.

Anyway. Point being:

Interview one was the shiver up my spine. Interview two was the stomach drop and sharp inhale.

I'm sure you can see where interview three was headed.

* * *

><p><em>I really will try to keep it from being so long before the next chapter, I swear! Feel free to email and nag me if it's too long though. <em>


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